


A Gentleman Caller in the Night

by Angstosaur



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Angst, Blood, Halloween, Multi, Sad with a Happy Ending, Vampire!John, creatures of the night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:48:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26863171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angstosaur/pseuds/Angstosaur
Summary: A knock at the door late at night startles Jamie and Claire. But not as much as the gentleman calling so very late - or his story.There's always room in the hearts of those who love freely to let one more in... especially someone so very deserving of that love.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser, Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser/Lord John Grey, Claire Beauchamp/Lord John Grey, Jamie Fraser/Lord John Grey
Comments: 25
Kudos: 61
Collections: Lord John Trick-or-Twink Spooktacular 2020





	A Gentleman Caller in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Check the tags - if this is not to your liking, do not read.

** A gentleman caller in the night  **

There was a knock at the door.

Checking the clock on the mantlepiece, Jamie conferred with Claire in a meeting of their eyes that it was too late at night for anyone wishing them well, unless it was someone seeking Claire’s services as a healer. But they had heard no noise outside the house until that knock. It was a polite tapping on the door, not the urgent battering of a desperate person.

Taking his pistol in hand, Jamie gestured for Claire to hide from sight until he had ascertained who was troubling them so late at night.

Unlatching the door, and opening it just a crack, Jamie was startled to see a familiar, though unexpected, face on his doorstep.

“John!” setting aside his weapon on a shelf by the door, Jamie flung his arms wide in greeting.

But John did not move from the spot where he was standing.

“Jamie Fraser,” came the soft-spoken reply from one of his dearest of friends. “I do apologise for the lack of notice and the lateness of the hour.”

“Will ye no’ come in, man?” prompted Jamie, relieved to have his invitation met with a grateful smile as John walked across the threshold and returned the hug that was offered.

“It is good to see you,” said John. “It has been too long since we last met.”

Claire rushed forward to extend her welcome to John as well, brushing aside his genteel bow in exchange for a brief embrace and a kiss on the cheek.

“John – what brings you here?” asked Claire, wrinkling her forehead in curiosity. “Is everything alright in Virginia? Is William with you?”

“William is well,” replied John. “He is… he has been staying with his cousins.”

Jamie exchanged a quick look with Claire. They had both picked up on the fact that Lord John had only answered the last question she had posed.

“You must be famished. Can I get you something to eat?” offered Claire. “Maybe some cold meats and-”

“There really is no need, my dear.” John declined the offer, shaking his head quickly. “I have already… had sustenance. On the way here.”

“Come in, come in,” prompted Jamie, ushering John towards the settle by the fire. “Take off yer cloak and gloves, man. Ye are staying are ye no’?”

“I… I would like that very much, but I … I do not think I shall be able to,” stammered John, wringing his hands as if struggling to say what he really wanted. “I really should not outstay my welcome.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John. You‘ve only just arrived,” stated Clare. “It’s gone midnight, and neither of us will allow you to leave here in the middle of the night. It is not safe in the woods for anyone to be travelling on their own at night. Tell him, Jamie.”

“She’s right, John. There have been rumours of demons in the woods, coming out at night to take the souls of God-fearing men.”

“Demons? Really?” John gasped. “I did not think that you would believe such old wives’ tales.”

“We’ve both seen the bodies,” explained Claire, grimacing at the memory. “Their throats were ripped out.”

“The work of wild animals, surely?” asserted John. “Did you not tell me in your letters that bears and wolves roam the forests?”

“This was nothing like any animal attack I’ve ever seen, John,” said Jamie, grimly. “Nae, Claire is right, ye’re to stay here the night. We’ll make up a cot by the fireside fer ye.”

“There really is no need to go to so much trouble on my behalf.” John shook his head, eyeing the blazing fire warily.

“Then what is the purpose of your visit?” asked Claire, not afraid to get to the point. “And for goodness sake, please take off that heavy cloak, it’s really not that cold in here!”

Not waiting for John to answer, Claire stepped forward and began to unbuckle the fastenings. As she did so, she accidentally brushed her hand against his cheek.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ! You’re freezing!” she exclaimed, a look of worry on her face. “You should be shivering… but you’re not. That’s a bad sign - but you don’t appear to have any other symptoms of hypothermia.”

Claire was baffled at the state of John, and as he stepped back, she thought for a moment that his eyes seemed to have a light of their own. She dismissed that as a trick of the light, distracted as John stilled her hands with his, still enclosed in the dark leather gloves.

“ Jamie? It's not that cold tonight surely?” Claire asked without taking her eyes from their guest.

“Nae – but I can put more wood on the fire.” Jamie frowned, but turned as if to stoke the fire up even more than it already was.

“Please, there is no need at all!” protested John, anxiously biting his lip as he watched the flames dance with wild abandon. “These days, I barely feel the cold, trust me.” A sad smile paid a fleeting visit to John’s lips as he gently squeezed Claire’s hands and removed them from his cloak.

Yet again, Claire’s eyes met Jamie’s and he shook his head slightly in response. He had spent enough time on the open road with John Grey to know that the man he had travelled with had always felt the cold terribly.

“Will ye at least take a dram of whisky with me?” asked Jamie, concerned that John seemed rather distant and out of sorts, almost as if he felt uncomfortable in their company.

“Yes … yes,” John hesitated at first and the nodded politely, letting Jamie usher him to a chair at the long dining table. “For old time’s sake, thank you.”

As Jamie set a bottle on the table he excused himself to fetch glasses from the cabinet at the back of the room. As he passed Claire he trailed out a hand and clutched her fingers briefly, a sign to follow him. 

“Claire – would ye show me where ye put our best glasses?” called out Jamie, as he appeared to be rooting around a deep cabinet fixed to the wall.

With their heads concealed behind the door of the cabinet, Jamie shared an worried glance with Claire.

“He’s not looking well at all,” whispered Claire. “I’ve never known him look so pale, even when he was at death’s door. And his skin is like ice!”

“Do ye ken what it could be?” asked Jamie, frowning. “Is he sickening fer something?”

“I have no idea,” replied Claire. “But I have a suspicion he knows he is ill and what it is that ails him.”

Returning to the table, Jamie opened the bottle and poured whisky into each of the three glasses he had carried back from the cabinet and passed one to John. Claire took another and took a seat across the table from John.

Glancing from husband to wife, John graced them both with a wry smile.

“I am not ill. But I do appreciate your concern,” said John. “There is nothing wrong with me this time that may be healed with herbs or with poultices.”

“But there _is_ something wrong, isn’t there, John?” asked Claire, noting that their dear friend had given them no reason to doubt that he was suffering from some affliction.

John picked up the fine crystal glass and swirled the contents, watching the way the amber liquid shone with the reflections of the lanterns. He raised the glass to his nose and, concentrating carefully, slowly inhaled.

“This looks and smells a great deal better than the bottle you plied me with on my first visit here,” John observed, again failing to provide an answer to Claire’s enquiry.

“Aye, it’s well-aged and bears more than a passing resemblance to the real thing,” replied Jamie, smiling as he recalled the rough liquor they had drunk after finishing the bottle of brandy that John had brought as a gift on that occasion.

“You still have not taken off your hat or gloves, John. Please, I insist you make yourself comfortable,” beseeched Claire. “We consider you family, surely you know that. There's no need to stand on ceremony in our company.”

John set down his whisky, untouched. He pressed his lips together, then moistened them with the tip of his tongue as if trying to ease out words he was reluctant to speak.

“You have always been most generous, Mrs Fraser-”

“Claire. Please call me Claire.”

John ducked his head down and shook his head.

“I … it is hard to explain.”

“What is it, mo charaid?” asked Jamie, reaching out to take hold of John’s leather-clad hand.

John pulled his hand away and then abruptly pushed the chair back and leapt to his feet.

“This is wrong. I cannot stay. It was an ill-judged error on my part,” John muttered as he paced up and down, as if wrestling with his conscience. “I must take my leave of you both immediately. Otherwise, I do not think I shall be able to –“

Unable to bear his friend’s torment for a moment longer, Jamie stood up and stopped John in his tracks by gathering him up in an embrace that brooked no argument.

“Whatever it is, ye ken ye can trust us, John. Ye’re our friend, we love ye dearly. Please, fer the love of God, tell us what is troubling ye? If ye’re in trouble, ye can stay here. Under my protection.”

Jamie could feel the sobs trying to fight their way free from John’s chest as he surrendered to the comfort on offer.

“Hush, mo charaid.” Jamie took John’s hat and cast it aside so he could press a kiss to his friend’s head.

“John, let me examine you.” Claire had joined them and had placed a hand on John’s arm. “I need to check your vitals.”

“My what?” blurted out John, confused. “My dear woman, those are not to be checked by anyone, let alone-”

“Dinna fash, John,” soothed Jamie. “She means yer heart and lungs, and whether ye’re fevered or no’. That’s all.”

“Oh, dear God-” John’s reaction was more horrified than it would have been if his original fears were grounded.

Before John could come up with any reasonable excuse to avoid Claire’s attention, he found himself manhandled by Jamie into the seat by the fire as Claire unceremoniously tugged off his gloves. Jamie had started unfastening his cloak before he was able to put up any form of protest.

“Please! I beg of you – do not!” John raised a hand to deflect them, but it was too late.

Claire wrapped one hand around his arm, fingers pressing against the inside of his wrist and the other held to the side of his throat. Her expression had gone from perplexed to horrified. She let go of his right hand and grasped his left, pressing her fingertips along the sinews that flexed as he tried to pull away from her grip. Turning over his hands to squeeze a fingertip, Claire gazed at his fingernails as she tried determine the rate of capillary refill. She was startled to see that his nails were almost translucent.

“What is it, mo leannan?” Jamie asked Claire, his eyes widening in concern. He had never seen Claire so flustered when examining a patient, he could only presume that whatever was wrong with John was very serious.

“His pulse is far too slow,” muttered Claire. She pushed aside the folds of John’s cloak and pressed an ear to his chest. “His heart is hardly beating at all. This shouldn’t be possible!”

“Nae! Ye must be mistaken.” Jamie shook his head in denial, thinking that John Grey was dying in front of his eyes. “Try again, lass.”

“I’ve tried, there’s nothing,” asserted Claire. She was certain of her findings. “His chest is not moving either – no breaths.”

John pushed himself up from the chair and slipped between them before they could halt his progress.

“I will take my leave of you both now,” announced John, his voice barely audible. He gathered his tricorn hat and gloves from the table where Jamie had set them down. “You shall never see me again.”

“No! You are staying exactly where you are!” yelled Claire, angrily snatching the hat from his hands. “You’re not going anywhere, not until you explain what happened. Why are you here, John?”

John just shook his head slowly and sighed wearily.

“I came here to test myself. Much as I did on the occasion when I had contracted measles,” admitted John, an ironic smile upon his lips. “That time I came here to see if I was still capable of feeling emotion. That time, you saved my life, my dear. This time, as you have discovered, it is far too late for that.”

“John, mo charaid – please tell me ye’re no’ saying what I think ye are?” demanded Jamie, trying to piece together the evidence in such a way that it did not mean what he feared.

“I am sorry, Jamie. It is as your dear wife has deduced.” John paused to look at Claire, whose arms were now folded, her hands tucked out of sight, as if she could not bear the thought of touching him. “My state of existence is confusing, I understand. I am no longer fully alive – yet neither am I dead. I am held in a purgatory between the two.”

Having made that admission, John sat back down on the bench. He had no choice but to place himself at the mercy of those he loved most.

“You said you came to test yourself, John.” Sighing in resignation, Claire reached out to take hold of one of John’s cold hands, noting that Jamie had moved to his other side to clasp the other. Neither of them had any intention of deserting their dear friend. “What did you mean by that? How are you testing yourself?”

“I … I needed to find out if the company of those I love more than life itself could help me resist these dreadful urges. This hateful hunger that consumes my very soul.”

“Ye’re no’ making any sense, mo charaid.” Jamie frowned as he looked to Claire for guidance. She held a finger to her lips, indicating that he should just let John try to put his internal torment into words.

Crouching on the floor, next to John, Claire wrapped an arm around his waist, feeling Jamie place an arm across John’s shoulders. There may not have been anything either of them could say, but they could at least give the man some comfort.

“How is it that you are defying- “ Claire almost said ‘medical science’ but adjusted her wording to take into account the century. “How are you defying natural laws? I do not understand how it is possible-”

“Not all things on this Earth can be fathomed, my dear. _You_ , of all people, should know that.” John gazed at Claire fondly for a moment, before gently squeezing her hand. “Did you not travel through the centuries to be with your husband? More than once I do believe. As did your delightful daughter.”

Claire found her cheeks flushing red with shame. Neither she nor Jamie had ever confided in John, although perhaps they should have. He was a well-read, educated man and he would have realised that she was not of the eighteenth century. It was with a feeling of mortification that she recalled how Jamie had given Brianna that precious ring of John’s – how this dear man had given up a jewel of immeasurable sentimental worth for the sake of their daughter, without question.

“Of course. I should never have underestimated your intelligence,” Claire conceded. “You worked it out.”

“I’m sorry we never told ye.” Jamie apologised as well. He was also ashamed that they had told Murtagh, yet never John, despite all he had done for them and their family to keep them safe.

John merely shook his head as if was of no consequence, when all three knew otherwise.

“So, in the light of that, you should not find it too unbelievable that a man should be able to walk and talk, long after his heart slowed down, and his breaths had all but stopped.”

John’s shoulders slumped forward as he tried to hide his face in his hands. He could feel the tears collecting at the corners of his eyes yet knew that the sight of them would only generate further revulsion.

Noticing the way John was trembling in his arms, Jamie gently cupped John’s chin and tilted it up to see his face. A thin, red trickle of blood had escaped from John’s eye to trace a pathway down his porcelain smooth cheek and onto his lip. Without hesitation, Jamie captured the droplet with his fingertips and then leant forward to kiss John on the mouth.

“John, mo charaid, what has happened to ye? What is it that ye have become?”

“A creature of the night,” whispered John, solemnly. “The touch of the sun upon my skin burns like a branding iron. I can hear the whispers of the mice in your outhouse from here, yet I am insensitive to the cold. I can hear the blood rushing through your veins and sense the beating of your hearts – loud and clear.”

John reached out and traced a fingertip across Jamie chest, biting his lip as he felt the precious organ skip a beat.

“I confess that I thirst for your blood. There is an impulse within me to tear open your throats and to drink every drop from your bodies-”

“Then why have ye no’ done so?” challenged Jamie. He found himself afraid for John, but not of him.

“You have no concept of how much it is taking from me to resist that urge-” stated John, angrily, before pressing a clenched fist to his mouth.

“But you are, John. You are resisting it!” exclaimed Claire, anxious to reassure John that his visit had not been in vain and that he could resist the primitive urge within him.

“For now, maybe. But if either of you were to fall asleep while I was under your roof – what then?” asked John. “Would you trust me then? Knowing what you do.”

“Could we no’ tie ye up somehow?”

“No, I am afraid that would not work.” John shook his head slowly. “I am far stronger now than when I was fully alive. When the need to feed overwhelms me – there is very little I can do to restrain myself.”

“I could lock ye up in the cellar,” suggested Jamie, desperate to find a way to help John. “There must be something we can do!”

John laughed out loud and then stood quickly, moving to the fireside so quickly they barely saw him move. He pulled a stout stick from the basket of kindling and, using the knife he always carried, he speedily whittled one end into a sharpened point.

Finished with his handiwork, John tucked his knife back out of sight and then walked towards Jamie, holding out the pointed stick. He pressed the sharp end to his own chest, over his heart and wrapped one of Jamie’s hands around the other end.

“This is all you can do for me. Thrust that into my heart and it will stop. Permanently. And so will all the unearthly urges and the pain.”

“But what about ye?” asked Jamie aghast, even as he flexed his fingers around the stick. If it helped John recover, he would be prepared to do anything. If it saved this man he loved so dearly, he would do it.

“I shall be-” John paused, swallowed hard and then, speaking quietly, continued: “I shall be gone. Reduced to dust by all accounts.”

“Nae, John, I canna do that!” cried Jamie. “I canna kill ye-”

“I am already dead!” shouted John, as blood-red tears trickled down his cheeks.

“Not to me!” declared Jamie, the tight pain in his own chest foreshadowing how it would feel to pierce John’s heart. Splinters of wood embedded themselves in the palm of his hand as he clenched his fist around the stake. “Dear God, John, I canna do it! Dinna ask this of me, please, I beg of ye-”

“Then just hold the damn thing and let me throw myself onto it!” ordered John, his eyes burning fiercely with sparks of azure. He pushed aside the layers of coat and waistcoat, before tearing open his shirt to expose his bare chest. “I am sure that will work.”

Claire began to weep, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared helplessly at the two men standing face to face, their love for one another shining in each other’s eyes.

“My dear Jamie, you can do me no further harm,” said John, his voice unbearably sad. “Yet by plunging that into my heart you may spare the lives of innocents. Blameless souls whose lives I may yet take if I cannot catch enough vermin upon which to feed -”

“John!” called out Claire. His words had taken her aback and she moved quickly to stand between him and Jamie. “Tell me – have you not fed on human blood at all?”

As she waited for John’s answer, Claire gently prised the stake away from his chest. Jamie released it with the minimum of prompting and did not flinch as she tossed it into the fire. Claire took hold of John’s face in her hands and looked into his eyes, knowing that he would not lie to her, his honesty had always been one of his most enduring qualities. As was his honour. She felt certain that he would not willingly take the life of an innocent.

“No,” came John’s answer, quietly delivered. “As yet, I have not done so – that does not mean I do not want to or that I shall not do so. The blood of rats and squirrels makes me sick, and the compulsion to seek other sources grows stronger day by day. I cannot guarantee-”

“If there was a way that I could find you a supply of blood – that would feed the hunger yet prevent you from taking human life, would you let me try?” demanded Claire, holding her dear friend’s face firmly in her grasp. She was unwilling to give up on John. Apart from caring for him a great deal, she knew that it would break Jamie’s heart if he had to kill his friend.

“And if it did not work?” asked John, frowning as he considered Claire’s words. If anyone could help him survive without taking human life, she would be the one.

“If I fail, then I shall be the one that pierces your heart with a sharpened stick and not Jamie.”

“Claire!” protested Jamie, affronted that his wife would assume that burden on his behalf. “Ye canna mean that-”

“Yes, I fucking can!” spat Claire, turning on Jamie. “I have the strength to do it and I will not let John’s last moment on this Earth be spent watching your heart break!”

Sighing heavily, acknowledging the truth of Claire’s words, Jamie took her in his arms and looked over her head towards John.

“Will ye no’ let us try to help ye? Please.”

“You are not disgusted by what I have become?” asked John, plaintively, unable to accept that he was being offered a way out that did not involve the ending of what was left of his life.

“Did ye ask fer this?” demanded Jamie. “I canna imagine that ye wished fer this tae happen?”

“No! No, of course not,” muttered John, thinking back to that fateful night in Savannah and wondering if his despondency had made him more vulnerable.

It had been nearly three months ago, when he had been set upon in the back room of a tavern. The opium had dulled his senses and he had believed the demons that tore the clothes from his body and sank their teeth into his flesh to be nightmares fuelled by his melancholia and the drugs. It was when he had awoken, naked and smeared with his own blood, and then been forced to swallow the blood of those fiends, that he had been told what had happened to him and what he would need to do in order to survive. They had kept him in their thrall for over a week before he had managed to escape. Having patiently absorbed their instructions on how he needed to ensure his own survival, he used their dire warnings against them. Waiting until they slept during the day to strike, he had bound them in rope and dragged their bodies into the sunlight, while covered in a wet sheet to reduce the effects on his own body. The pain had still been excruciating, but it had bought his freedom. It had also demonstrated to him that he would never walk freely in the sun again.

“Stay with us, John,” begged Jamie, watching on as John appeared to be reliving some horrendous nightmare. “I shall build ye an annex with no windows, or we can furnish the cellar-” 

“You would mean for me to stay with you? To live amongst you?” John was astonished. “I never meant for-”

“Did you really think we would cast ye out?” asked Jamie, holding out a hand, palm facing upwards.

“After all that you have done for us, John, let us do something for you,” said Claire, reaching out to take one of John’s hands to pull him into their embrace.

“We’ll find a way, John,” asserted Jamie as he wrapped an arm around John’s slender frame. “Ye belong wi’ us – ye always have.”

Claire nudged Jamie and their eyes met in silent agreement. It was Claire who addressed John to make the offer they both understood would be the lifeline he needed.

“If we were to let you to feed on our blood-”

“Dear God, no! No!” John flung his hands up and stepped away from them, as if to repel the very thought of drinking their blood. He was aghast. “I would rather throw myself upon that fire than even consider such a thing.”

“She speaks fer both of us, John,” said Jamie, sliding his hand up Claire’s arm to clasp her by the elbow and draw her closer. He narrowed his eyes before making a point he knew John could not deny. “I ken that ye’d do the same fer either of us if we were the ones in need – ye ken ye would.”

“Naturally, without question,” admitted John, although he still looked conflicted. “But I still feel that I must resist. However tempting your offer, just like another you once made to me so long ago now… as was the case then, do you really think I would…” John shook his head. “No. No, I must not …”

“John, this is no’ the same!” exclaimed Jamie, exasperated. “Ye will _die_ if you do not let us help ye. Either from starvation, sunlight or a fucking pointed stick.”

“He’s right, John. Let us try this first,” beseeched Claire. “Please, don’t expect either of us to let you walk out into the night, knowing we shall never see you again.”

“Are you…?” John frowned as he regarded the earnest looks on both their faces. They were reaching out to him again, this time with their bodies, hearts and souls. “Do you mean … now?”

“There is no time like the present and, forgive me for pointing this out, but you are looking deathly pale.” Claire paused to stare at John’s chest, frowning as she tried to make a medical assessment of his condition by the pallor of his skin. She swallowed back a sob as she refused to acknowledge what his condition suggested. “Your skin is virtually translucent.”

John self-consciously pulled his shirt back to cover his chest, realising that Claire was gazing at him with motherly concern. It almost amused him to think that she was literally considering feeding him up. 

“She’s right, I can almost see yer ribs, John.” Jamie was shaking his head, also concerned. “Let us do this fer ye. After all that ye’ve done fer our family over the years – all ye’ve done fer me. We canna save yer life, and that tears my soul apart. But we can save you from suffering any more than ye have to.”

“John, listen to Jamie – this is something we want to do. This is the least we can do for you. Pease let us try. I hate to think of you wandering off into the night.” Catching the wistful look in John’s pale blue eyes, Claire’s breath caught in her throat as she realised what he was bracing himself to do. “You’re planning never return to us or to William, aren’t you?”

“That is very astute of you,” said John, pressing his lips together to hold back the tide of emotion threatening to drown him. “You are correct in that assumption – for the sake of those I love, I must make a journey from which there will be no turning back.”

Jamie looked into John’s face and discerned what he was not putting into words – that he intended to make his death permanent. He shook his head vehemently. That would not do.

“Then that settles it, mo chridhe. Ye’re staying here until we find a way to help you,” stated Jamie, adamantly. “I’ll no’ let ye walk away never to see ye again, no’ without trying this first. Claire’s idea may work – ye may not have tae take such drastic steps.”

“I cannot believe that you would trust me,” John’s lips quirked into a pale imitation of a smile as he turned away, struggling to comprehend why Jamie Fraser would offer him sanctuary.

“There have been many times in the past when I have no’ trusted ye, John. Times when I should have,” Jamie sighed as he thought with regret of the times he had lashed out at John blaming him for the sins of others. He had been fortunate in having other chances in the past, but he knew that if he failed John this time, he would never be able to make amends. “Ye’ve never given me reason not to in the past and I believe ye’re still the same man.”

Taking John into his arms, Jamie pressed a kiss to his lips, breathing warmth into his mouth, wishing desperately he could reignite the man’s heart with the love he felt for him. As he stood there, he felt one of Claire’s arms slide around his waist and looking to his side, he saw her lift a hand to stroke John’s face.

“I have a suggestion,” said Claire, running her fingers through John’s hair, unfastening the ribbon at the nape of his neck. “What if you were to supplement a diet of blood from animals with some human blood? Blood that the two of us would willingly give. Would that satisfy the urges?”

“I … I truly do not know,” muttered John. Although he was becoming more and more aware of the thumping of their hearts, the quickening beats threatening to drive him mad with hunger. “What you are offering me – I cannot express what that means to me. But… but what if I were unable to stop?”

“We trust ye, John,” said Jamie, firmly holding onto John’s shoulder. “And if ye do not stop when we say so, I shall stop ye…”

“I … I do not know …” muttered John, confounded by such an unexpected response. Meanwhile, in such close proximity to the Frasers, his senses were swimming in a miasma of overwhelming sensations. The scents of their bodies filled his nostrils, each different, but both a combination of herbal soaps, aromatic oils and the sharp tang of human sweat. John ran the tip of his tongue around his lips, catching on the sharp points of his eye teeth. The swell of Claire’s breast as she inhaled deeply and the mild disconcertion in Jamie’s face as he adjusted the way he was standing, as John glimpsed the tightness in his breeches. A flick of his eyes from Jamie to Claire showed the same emotion on each of their faces as the one he was feeling – arousal.

“Dear God, is this happening, or am I hallucinating?” asked John, as was experiencing reactions he had never thought he would feel again. He was breathing heavier despite having no need for air in his lungs, responding to the touch of Jamie’s hands on his back and Claire’s on his chest, their caresses having him lose control of all sense of reason.

“Will you come to our bed, John?” asked Claire, as she trailed fingertips over the bulge in his breeches, gently cupping him. She disengaged herself from the two men, and held out her hands, beckoning them to follow her to the far corner where the large wooden bed was positioned. “You are fading away. I would imagine you are weaker than you think. Your body craves human blood and leaving us this night will not spare you that.”

“Mo charaid?” prompted Jamie, pressing a kiss to John’s throat before moving to Claire’s side. His stormy blue eyes not leaving John’s face, he held out one hand to him as he clasped Claire’s with the other.

Closing his eyes and trusting to fate, John took their hands and let himself be pulled towards the scents and sounds that drowned out any whispers of reservation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Filtering through a gap in the window shutters, the moonlight bathed their naked limbs. John’s ivory cool, pale body was held captive in a cage of lovers’ limbs. His back was pressed against the broad chest of Jamie, held tight by sun-bronzed arms, one of which was draped low across his hips. His legs were tangled with Claire’s, whose skin was as soft as rose petals. Her head lay upon his chest, her long dark curls tumbling free, caressing his skin, while her breasts pressed against his tight abdomen.

John could still taste their blood upon his lips, a heady combination of the finest claret mingled with the warmth of brandy. The touch of their hands over his body had brought blood-tinged tears of joy to his eyes. They had worshipped him with lips, tongues and fingertips as he had punctured the soft skin of their throats, sipping delicately on the gifts they bequeathed him, discovering that a soft swipe of his tongue over the puncture marks sealed them close, with barely a mark left behind. The scents of their love-making cocooned him with such sweet aromas that recalled every sigh, moan and gasp from the night. He wanted to commit all of these sensations to his memory for however long he had left to enjoy them. His love for them as a couple had proved far stronger than any baser compulsions.

Sighing gently, he tried to extricate himself from the entwined bodies, hopefully in such a way that husband and wife would fall into each other’s arms and not miss his presence. However, even as he eased his leg from between Claire’s thighs he felt Jamie rouse behind him, his stubbled chin scraping across the nape of his neck.

“I hope ye’re no’ thinking of slipping away like a thief in the night?” rumbled Jamie’s voice against behind his ear.

“What is it that you would claim I have stolen?” whispered John. “Apart from a draft or two of your lifeblood-”

“That was given freely as well ye ken,” interrupted Jamie as he gently sunk his teeth into John’s earlobe. “Nae, John, ye’ve stolen our hearts and if ye leave this house ye’ll be taking them with ye. So, I beg of ye, dinna leave.”

Before John could think of a suitable response, he felt Claire stir, her hands opening and closing like a cat’s paws as she stretched out across his body, finally coming to rest on his chest, her fingers running through the hair just as she had earlier that night.

“Who’s going where?” she asked sleepily, casting drowsy eyes over the two men who had pleasured her so thoroughly that evening.

“Nae one is going anywhere, Sassenach.” Jamie reached out a hand to stroke Claire’s hair, sliding it down to span across John’s ribcage, that seemed less prominent than it had earlier. “Isn’t that right, mo leannan.”

“I… I would very much like to stay as long as is convenient.”

“Glad tae hear it. Now go to sleep, both of ye,” Jamie kissed both John and Claire on the tops of their heads. “I’ve got an extension to build in the morning.”

As the warm enclosure of bodies tightened around him once more, John felt warm, safe and secure. He had arrived as a caller in the night to bid farewell, with every intention to make it his last night on Earth, but he had found salvation.

In the arms of his dearest of friends, he had found love as they had opened their hearts to him.

**Author's Note:**

> For Theresa.


End file.
